


Resting

by palmtreelights



Category: Power Rangers, Power Rangers S.P.D.
Genre: Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-17 18:50:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4677482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palmtreelights/pseuds/palmtreelights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Z and Jack, a chase, and another victory.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Resting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Arytra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arytra/gifts).



> Z and Jack's friendship is a weakness of mine, so I couldn't help myself~

Jack cheats.

It is in no way fair that he can outrun law enforcement as easily as he can, while Z has to think up four or five different places to go that don’t lead to their hideout, all while still avoiding being caught.

Granted, it’s not like Jack abandons her. Rather, he tends to wait for the cops to pass the building he’s just dived into, and then surprise them be appearing somewhere else—seemingly by magic. (Joke’s on them. It’s not magic. It’s _genes_.)

But still, it’s a thought that makes her smirk as she shifts her thoughts just so; one of her replicas jumps off a wall, going high into the air in a graceful flip as the cop chasing her runs under her, and lands right behind him, giving him a wink before starting off in another direction.

Another two replicas spin out of an officer’s way, as if they’re dancing.

The real her leaps up and grabs hold of a fire escape, clambering up faster than the cop can follow. She goes up another two stories, then peers down at him as he hauls himself slowly up onto the first landing. He’s been slacking on his workouts, and his endurance can only get him so far.

Z laughs, waving at him. She pulls the metaphorical plug on the solo replica and one of the dancing duo, then creates one on the ground in this alleyway. That Z whistles at the officer, who is panting as he finally makes it onto the landing.

The officer glares at the real her.

She winks and climbs up onto the next landing, where she stays out of sight. She tosses the bandana in her pocket over the edge, to throw him off, which the replica down below catches.

“You guys are _way_ too slow,” says the replica.

Through that second set of eyes, Z watches him take one more look at the landing she’s lying on before deciding to hop back down and take his chances on the girl in the alley.

He gives chase, and Z has her run and jump and dodge her way out onto a crowded street, where she drops the bandana before disappearing—both amid the people, and for real. The last thing she sees through the replica’s eyes is the police officer bending down to grab the butter-yellow bandana.

The last replica still standing makes her way back to where they last saw Jack, and right on cue, Jack dashes out from inside a storage shed and takes her hand, letting her lead him back to where the real Z lies, waiting. She gives his hand a hard squeeze as they draw near, and he nods, tugging her in the opposite direction, leading her literally through a building. They’ve practiced this enough that she’s got the timing down, and she snuffs out the last replica so that it looks as if she, too, has run through a wall.

It’s another few minutes before the officer decides to try and cut them off on the other side of the building, and another minute or two after that before Z rolls onto her stomach and dares to peer over the edge of the landing.

Jack comes out from inside the building another few seconds later, rubbing his arms and shaking his head. He looks up and down the alley for her, then stops and lifts his gaze, checking every fire escape in the alley.

When he finally finds her, she waves at him.

Even from up where she is, she can see him smile as he shakes his head—or maybe she just knows him so well that she can picture it clear as day. In any case, she waits until she hears him start to climb up to her before starting to sit up, slowly. Replicating takes a lot out of her, and she was hungry long before they were spotted skimming edibles off the outdoor produce stalls several streets up.

She gets up, though, and scoots off to the side, leaving him plenty of room.

Ahead of him comes the backpack where they’ve hidden their spoils. It’s easier if he’s in charge of keeping an eye on the goods, because as long as they’re on him, he can take them with him when he does his little genetic trick. Once, they’d tried to see if Z could replicate more food with her ability, but the duplicates were as fake as her copies. Shame, too, because they could help a lot more people that way.

No use agonizing over it, though. For a pair of sixteen-year-olds, they do a decent enough job.

Z pulls the backpack onto her lap, and Jack pulls himself up, settling into the spot she’d cleared for him.

“You cheat,” she tells him, glancing at him as she unzips the bag.

“What?” he asks, frowning. “How do I cheat?”

Pawing through the backpack’s contents, she laughs. “I’m thinking for at least three when we do this, and you get to be Mr. Cool and run through everything and everyone.”

“Yeah, okay, I spent the end of today’s chase in a meat locker.” He watches her pull a plum out of the bag, then snatches it from her. “I was _literally_ Mr. Cool, and I didn’t like it.”

She shoots him a quick glare for the plum, but it doesn’t last. “Ouch.”

“Yeah.” Shrugging, he buffs the plum on his shirt and bites into it. “And anyway, it feels weird. Tingly. Static-y.”

“I just tried to imagine feeling static-y, times three.” She shudders. “No, thank you. I’ll stick with what I’ve got.”

“I wouldn’t trade you, you know, even if I could.” He pauses long enough to swallow another mouthful of plum. “I have enough trouble with one of me. How do you keep it straight?”

“Well, it doesn’t help that I’m not straight.”

He shoots her a glare that dissolves as soon as their eyes meet, and he gives in to badly-suppressed laughter.

She joins in on that, running her thumb over a bruise on the tomato she’s just pulled from the backpack. “We have to figure out a better way to transport these,” she remarks, then takes a bite. It’s just right, ripe enough to be juicy, but not so ripe it’s lost all its crunchiness. “In all seriousness, though, I don’t know. I kind of just do it.”

“Fair enough,” he says, and he grins at her.

They eat in silence for a while, and Z mulls his question over in her head. How does replicating work? And how does his phasing work? To some extent, she can understand the basics of it all. They have to want it to happen, or need it. After years and years of practice and patience (and some impatience, too), neither of them has to work hard to do their thing. Jack might be caught off-guard by an obstacle when he turns a corner, but even as he flails his arms out to keep his balance, he’s always able to run right through it. And for her part, Z can generate a replica as easy as blinking.

She knows there are a lot of different species out there, some with special abilities, some with biology that naturally grants them some sort of power, but she can’t think of humans who’ve been super-powered in and of themselves. By external forces, sure, but born this way?

Her free hand drifts up to feel for a necklace that isn’t there. In all the years since she’s lost it, she hasn’t been able to break herself of the habit, and she doesn’t really want to. Even without it physically there, she likes how the memory of it brings up an image of her parents.

Jack tosses the plum pit over the railing. Together, they watch it fall into an open dumpster.

“ _Yes_ ,” he hisses, lifting a fist high. “Still got it.”

Z laughs and leans against him, settling her head on his shoulder as she swallows the last of that tomato. Flicking the vine stem over the edge of the landing, she shuts her eyes. “You win my silence for a little while.”

“Silence? Please. You snore like a monster truck.”

“I do _not_.” She nudges him with her elbow but otherwise stays right where she is.

Snickering, he takes the backpack from her, but rather than rooting through it right away, he rests his head against hers and sighs. “How could you say I cheat, though?”

“We _both_ cheat, brother,” she murmurs. “Every day.”

He sighs again, and she feels the tension leave his frame. She can hear the smile in his voice as he says, “That’s more like it.”

They both chuckle at that, their voices hushed even though the afternoon’s danger has long since passed. Up here, with the only brother she’s ever known, she rests assured that nothing in the world can touch them.


End file.
